She stares out
pulling at things to distract her,
the park walker.
But she is so immersed,
she cannot remember
if she needs her hero to be
or a murderer.
Because right now in her mind,
to die is to be saved.
The Chill of MeltingThe loving hands which shaped these feathers
bade me fight the fire and forsake the water,
find the space between.
Then those hands released me from our cage,
and from my mind all was gone.
The empty openness of the sky
was the same as that of my mind.
Curiosity flew to me on her silver wings
and, landing on my back,
bade me soar.
She flew into my throat and sat in my heart
warming her iced hands at the fire of my freedom.
She bade the flames burn brighter,
for her hair was tangled with frost,
her eyes had become crystals of ice,
and snow now flowed through her veins.
She sang to me a song of winter,
and in the spring sun
I sprung from the cold shadows.
Her breaths of mist filled my wings
and chilled my blistering skin.
Her icy tears streamed from my ember eyes.
She gathered the cinders in her icicle fingers
and cooled my burning fear.
But as she sang her song,
the fire bade me fall.
Curiosity’s laughter screamed in my ears.
As the ashes swirled like snow,
I floated past the soft
LabyrinthDarkness will, in this maze,
scream in the ears of wanderers.
Darkness will, in this labyrinth,
crawl into the hearts of men.
Darkness will, in this endless hall,
silence escaping words and drag the rain from eyes of children.
Darkness will, in this prison,
ColorlessFeel openness around you,
lending its strength to the worn wood
bending beneath you
and holding you up.
The trees clutch you close to their chests,
comforting your unseeing eyes.
In the quiet around you
blooms the silent flower,
your own breathing the only thing to sound
alongside the avian lullabies
singing the sun to cool slumber.
Swallow the birds’ calls,
keeping the chill of the night from your skin.
Hear the trees’ heartbeat,
beating a rhythm for your own.
Breathe in the silence
pooling about you.
Because when you’re alone
your empty eyes can see.
Red LeatherMy eyes kissed the tough wagon,
“I’m afraid I’ve surprised you” said the wheel,
as red leather rocks took the shock and flew.
They flew twice as high as the wall,
flew past the stars and grew into the moon,
as the clouds sang, loud proud and true.
The frog sat inside the mailbox,
as someone pushed a pile of post,
the wide face swung forward and bit.
Paper bruised and cut its poor throat,
so our little frog melted to soft mud
and snow fell on the hot tarmac.
Wavering heat feasts on bones,
bones disowned by the scrap dogs.
Children mutter proverbs in silence,
their eyes lamps of sugar and spice
and as the gasping earth drinks its tea,
lambs die and no one hears their cries.
Away From HomeChantel walked along the boring, grey hallway like she did everyday on the way to group therapy. Walking down those halls really reminded her how much she hated the color grey. The walls were grey, the ceiling was grey, the furniture was grey, the sky outside was often grey; the color grey seemed to be a pandemic and, the first point of infection was the building she now lived in. She was an inpatient at a sanitorium surrounded by bucolic fields, trees and, as Chantel had figured when she arrived, nothing else. Thinking about the surrounding countryside reminded her of how she had been dropped at Mountainview Sanitorium by her untenably furious parents just a week ago. However, it seemed like years since she was sitting in the leather back seat of the family Volkswagen, duffel bag at her feet. The door to group therapy and the face of her friend Claire woke her from her reverie.
“Dude, lets go! Doc is gonna kill us if we’re late again,” Claire smiled as she remembered
I Find MyselfI find myself in my bedroom walls,
Silent and ever watchful.
I find myself in the worn living room floors,
Beaten down until used to it.
I find myself underneath my bed,
Understanding that I am my own monster.
I find myself looking at the door,
Wondering when it will open.
I find myself peeping through the window,
But night leaves nothing in my sight.
I find myself in old conversations,
My heart finally still.
I find myself stamped into black words,
Wishing for white paint.
I find myself in moonlight,
And beg for the sun.
I find myself in a dream,
After all of this nightmare.
I find myself crying,
Because you are still there.
I find myself hoping that this,
This is the last time.
I find myself turning from you,
There is no use lying.
I find myself smiling,
I find myself a lost cause,
I always find myself
Waiting for you.
The Girl Who Was Afraid To BeShe speaks to me fondly
of passions and talents,
of guitars and stars,
with such breathless intensity
then stops short and
for speaking at all.
All because somewhere in her life,
someone she loved broke her heart
her beautiful words
and telling her to
keep it down,
People aren’t born sad.
We make them that way.
Rising from the ashesI sank down
All the way to the bottom
And I thought
I'd never rise again
But I've found my way
I relied on great friends
I fought hard
And even if I still have
A long way to go
I'll keep trying
I will survive
There was a time
when he had long, curly hair
to rival that of any
his father called him
"My little Princess"
but he was always a
Prince, and couldn't see
why his Mother did not
There were two times
where he went to a church
once for a Christmas service and
he couldn't understand how
"God is love," when he
had been cursed with a body
not his own -
another a few years later
when his outside
matched his inside,
but they turned him away
still claiming that
"God is love," and he
still couldn't understand
how that was possible.
There were three times
when other boys at school
followed him home cursing
every bone in his body,
calling him names, there
was one with blue eyes
who had a knife and left him
and the nurses in hospital
called him the wrong name -
at night he cried bitterly
about the world's ignorance.
There were four times
when he wondered if there
was a special heaven
for boys like him and,
hoping there was,
I couldn't see the consequences-
As I tried to trust my heart
I just couldn't resist-
The blind love that ceased my wars
Helping me let go of the struggles-
That I foolishly held in my hands
I freed the thoughts that quarreled-
Tears fell in order for me to stand
Truth can be the worst enemy
Lies can be the strongest ally
Harmony isn't immune to tragedy
Because you made a myth out of your apparent humanity
Mistakes can never be renamed! / Scars can never be erased!
Compassion is used as bait! / Two sides to every face!
A piece of peace is caged! / Watch the bridge burn away!
I'll desecrate the meaning of “passion”
You redefined my every moral
There will be no hesitation
I won't need anyone -anymore-
I ignored the risks-
Of handing over my hope
Killed by a kiss-
Turning my world to stone
I believed in your deceit-
And I fell too hard
My mind endlessly screams-
It Was Never You...It really wasn't...
And I know that I can twist this truth as much as I want...
Whenever I'm sober, when I know I can put up that fake plastic smile;
Just a few formal words that burn like acid from a liar's lips!
"Differences in personality, a divergence in ideals..."
Please, fucking, SPARE ME!
Because when I look in this mirror, I know.
When I see myself looking back at me, I know.
Right here, right in front of my own blackened self;
Those eyes that both reflect and stare into my dingy soul.
I was the problem.
I was the instigator.
I was the perpetrator.
And when I had broken every last bit of her,
I was the one, who let it all fall to pieces.
So please, you don't have to feel sorry for me,
I am a bastard and I've got a very special place in hell waiting for me...
- Word of Chen, Darkest Hour, 16th February 2015
The Bright Side of DyslexiaI was born with auditory dyslexia.
I once heard of someone who wrote, directed, and coastguard in their own movie.
I knew what the right word was, but it still got me thinking:
About the invigorating music of waves crashing against my vessel,
The challenge of serving to the best of my skills,
The pride of keeping the shores of my homeland safe.
That was how I found my career,
And it's been just as rewarding as I had hoped.
An episode of CSI mentioned literature marks on the vic's neck,
Which inspired a fulfilling side project of poetry.
In a later CSI, taunts were exchanged:
"I'm the king of the jingle here! You don't stand a chants!"
"That's what you think! This isn't my first radio!"
(It wasn't a very well-written episode.)
Anyway, with that I tried adding tunes to my rhymes.
The result was better than I expected;
A local morning show even played one of my works on the radio!
My girlfriend told me she needed a shoulder to crayon.
This inspired me to
I won't cryyou can ask me how I am.
that's okay I won't cry
I don't know how I am, I can't correctly describe it.
Other than to say there's a constant ache in my chest
and a tightness in my throat,
with swelled up emotions sitting somewhere at the back of my eyes.
You should be careful what you say
but then I can't even explain what triggers these feelings
so say what you like,I'll just react in which ever way,
cos I have no controll now.
The way I feel everyday, has become so familiar to me,
since I lost him.
Sometimes it's so hard to bear,
the constant ache in my chest threatens to crush me
It's hard to breath.
The tightness im my throat burns,
I want to wail out loud my inarticulate utterances of grief
and release all my pent up emotions.
But don't worry you can ask me how I am.
It's okay, I won't cry.
Written by Suzanne karbach
21st may 2015